


Of Snakes and Observations

by Zalhalla



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Demons, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Fluff, I only said ineffable once, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), It's about The Snake Tattoo, M/M, Other, Realizations, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Slice of Life, Snakes, Spoilers for the last episode, assholes, overcoming shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 08:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19269553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zalhalla/pseuds/Zalhalla
Summary: Aziraphale is a clever angel, even if he is not always observant. Or, as Crowley would moan, “the most situationally blind angel this side of Gabriel.” It is perhaps a little unsurprising then, that it takes him 6,000 years to figure out what has quite literally been staring him in the face this whole time.Or,Crowley is a snake. Even when he's man shaped and pretending he isn't.





	Of Snakes and Observations

**Author's Note:**

> in honor of 14 yo me who bought a copy of Good Omens while on vacation in Colorado and hasn't written fanfiction in years due to my own hangups
> 
> you were doing alright, 14 yo Zalhalla. You're allowed to like stuff and enjoy it.

Aziraphale is a clever angel, even if he is not always observant. Or, as Crowley would moan, “the most situationally blind angel this side of Gabriel.” As far as he's concerned, he would have figured out that embarrassing and near-discorpating double cross during the Blitz if things had just been a little calmer, a little quieter. And really, how was he expected to know how far the French Revolution had progressed? He does figure things out eventually, even if it takes him a little time. After all, he did decode Agnes Nutter’s prophecy to find Adam in the nick of time!

 

It is perhaps a little unsurprising then, that it takes him 6,000 years to figure out what has quite literally been staring him in the face this whole time. 

 

Before their appearance switch, they are careful to interview each other about expectations for their trips Up and Down. Azira describes the lofty ceilings and wide windows standing over human creation, and Crowley tells him about poorly lit, claustrophobic hallways overcrowded with demons and the smell of rot and everything unpleasant. Azira is a little surprised it’s so unpleasant and that the demons don’t try and make it even a little bit nicer, since they live there after all, and Crowley groans and rolls his eyes. 

 

“Because  _ that’s the point, _ you feather pillow, Hell’s not supposed to be  _ pleasant _ for anyone.”

 

“Still,” Azira says, a little miffed. “I’m sure it no one would mind if there was a  _ little _ upkeep.”

 

“This plan is doomed,” Crowley moans into his arms, head thunking heavily against the table. 

 

… … … … … … … … 

 

Being Crowley is almost a fun experience. The confidence, the swagger, the quips - if he wasn’t scared for Crowley’s life and so focused on building them a safer future, he might actually enjoy it. Or rather, admit that he enjoys it. Just a little bit.

 

Crowley’s description of Hell is nice and accurate, and the only thing that catches the angel by surprise is the headwear. It seems to be some kind of demonic fashion statement to have all kinds of insect, reptile, amphibian, or even fungus perched on one’s head, and even as Crowley, Azira feels a little exposed without one of his own.

 

But, then he supposes Crowley must always feel a little different to his fellow demons - he is a bit good after all - and returns to flicking bathwater at the glass. He grins like the cat, no, the snake that got the canary, and extracts their promises of safety. 

 

Azira savors the flinches of the demons who gathered to watch Crowey dissolve and the look of stone cold shock that Michael gives him - gives  _ Crowley. _

 

Mission accomplished, he turns his thoughts away from Hell and its many demons as he ascends to Earth. There’s only one demon left on his mind now.

 

… … … … … … … … 

 

Azira finally figures it out then, not there in Hell, but on Earth, at their usual park bench. The two celestial beings sit quietly next to each other, enjoying the blissful noise and thriving motion of the city-that-almost-wasn't-anymore around them. 

 

Azira is just about to make a quip about the strangeness of head attire in Hell, mouth halfway open already when he freezes, the pieces all slotting together as his eyes trace the familiar contours of his beloved demon's face. Crowley still watches the park, chuckling darkly at two pigeons fighting over a muffin wrapper, and the little snake tattoo - what Azira had always assumed was just a tattoo, just a form of *decoration* that Crowley enjoyed for his aesthetic - coils as proudly as it ever has from his sideburn.

 

And Aziraphale realizes it's not a tattoo, not a birthmark, not a drawing, not a brand.

 

It's Crowley.

The little snake on his skin is not anything but Crowley himself.

 

How many years of hiding himself out of shame and disgust? How many millennia of distancing himself from the slime and the rot and the filth that festered in Hell? Shunning every other demon convention? Hating every part of himself enough to hide his nature, change his name, build something new? Feeling shame over his authentic self? Literally hiding his own form as a footnote on his skin instead of wearing himself as a crown, as every other demon would do, proud of their scales and chitin?

 

His heart suddenly aches for his dearest, closest friend, for all the hours he can imagine Crowley spent in front of a mirror, primping and preening to look as un-demonic as possible - to make himself into Crowley, Hell’s agent on Earth, and not Crawly, the snake of Eden.

 

Azira’s mouth slowly closes and he blinks, eyes still fixed on that little spot. Crowley must feel the weight of his stare, the sudden whoosh of gravity as Aziraphale figures it all out, because he looks back at the angel and frowns, clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny and resettling on the park bench. 

 

“If you take a picture, it might last longer.”

 

“Longer than 6,000 years? I doubt it.”

 

Well, there’s a first time for everything, and if he’s going to do it, he may as well get it right the first go around. Aziraphale isn’t quick, but he is sure, leaning in to Crowley’s face and softly kissing the little snake. 

 

The things he’s feeling are too great, too complicated, and too powerful to be explained in words.  _ Ineffable _ . The kiss says more than human or celestial language ever could of love and understanding, and maybe most importantly, acceptance for that wily old snake. 

 

He can see Crowley's feathers ruffle on another plane as he looks back into the angel's eyes, warm and the faintest spots of color high in his cheeks, wondering if Aziraphale knows the significance of that little heavenly peck.

 

He does. Azira smiles and settles their hands together. 

**Author's Note:**

> Also I have Twitter
> 
> https://mobile.twitter.com/zalhalla


End file.
